


strip the buttons

by Byacolate



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alive Erica, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Always-a-girl!Stiles, Blood and Gore, F/F, Genderbending, Girl!Derek, Girl!Stiles, Magical Tattoos, Nudity, Partial Nudity, Public Nudity, Rule 63, Scarification, Tattooed Stiles, Tattoos, always-a-girl!Derek, lots and lots of nudity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-22
Updated: 2013-06-22
Packaged: 2017-12-15 18:50:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/852858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Byacolate/pseuds/Byacolate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles' nudity was merely a byproduct of Erica and Lydia’s vicious battle for dominance. She was just kind of shit at poker.</p>
            </blockquote>





	strip the buttons

**Author's Note:**

> Based on an anonymous prompt on tumblr: "I'd love to see a 5+1 fic where it's 5 times fem!Derek saw fem!Stiles naked and 1 time she was the cause?"
> 
> I'm sorry that I basically turned your request into a tattooed!Stiles appreciation fic, but it had to happen.

The first time wasn’t totally Desiree’s fault.

 

It was her loft, her bathroom, and she’d had a shitty day, so the last thing she wanted to hear was her _one working shower_ already in use when she tromped into the loft smattered in deer guts. It only took a second to listen for a heartbeat to tell her that the infiltrator wasn’t even one of her pack - that little skipping offbeat could only belong to one person.

 

Frustration and a healthy dose of unholy rage prompted her to throw open the bathroom door, flexing her claws and gnashing her fangs just to be vindictive, and it seemed to have the desired effect; Stiles screeched and tossed up the soap (Desiree’s soap, damn her), long and coltish teenage limbs flailing as she tried to grab onto something that wasn’t slippery wet. “Holy shit!” she squawked, and - and she was utterly unabashed, wasn’t she? Desiree didn’t think she’d even seen a strip of Stiles that couldn’t be hidden by a hoodie before, so she’d always just assumed she was shy, but it was clear she had no qualms about her nudity in that moment. Desiree took quick stock of her - gangly, soft, covered in freckles, and - and any more time spent looking at places that weren’t Stiles’ face was going to get her in trouble. Desiree didn’t need any more trouble. She needed to get mad again.

 

“What the hell are you doing?”

 

“What does it look like, dumbass?” Stiles said, but even if her glare had an effect on a normal basis, the rivulets of water and short dark curls stuck to her forehead would have diminished the effect entirely.

 

“I mean,” Desiree started again, fangs bared, “why are you-”

 

“Wow, you are  _covered_ in blood.”

 

Desiree’s nostrils flared and she counted slowly to ten just to keep from literally biting the sheriff’s daughter’s head off. “Really?” she growled. “I hadn’t noticed.”

 

Stiles quickly turned the shower off and hopped out, grabbing a towel ( _Desiree’s_ towel) and bending to give herself a quick rub down. Desiree was definitely not eying the swell of her freckled ass as she did so. “Sorry, sorry, I sort of - I thought - Isaac and Scott were just here, they went to grab some takeout, so I just -”

 

“Stiles.” Desiree pinched the bridge of her nose. It was beyond irritating the way Desiree couldn’t hold onto her righteous fury when Stiles was so genuinely apologetic. “Just... shut up and give me my shower back.”

 

“Right, yeah, go ahead, I was just sweaty and gross, you’re like...” Stiles gestured broadly to Desiree’s deer-adorned body. “Did you rig a bomb inside a woodland creature or something? Pretty sure there’s a piece of squirrel in your hair.”

 

“Deer,” Desiree corrected, and for someone who’d been totally flagrant about her nudity not even two minutes before, Stiles certainly had something to protest when Desiree began to pull off her shirt.

 

“Right, okay, going now, totally stealing this towel!” she stuttered, flailing around Desiree and nearly tripping over herself for it.

 

Really, it wasn’t Desiree’s fault at all.

 

 

☙❧

 

The second time, it wasn’t even so much the expanse of bare skin that caught Desiree’s eye than what was on it. Or  _in_ it, perhaps would be a more appropriate turn of phrase.

 

It wasn’t very big, but it was there, perched on the meat of her shoulder blade where she’d probably read hurt the least. It was out of sight, too, which was a fairly smart move, considering Stiles was only seventeen, but really, who could have expected her to twiddle her thumbs until she was of legal age when Desiree had tattooed her best friend at sixteen? Stiles was nothing if not loyal, and there on her back was the proof of that.

 

Scott’s design in red ink. Desiree didn’t know the symbolism of the red, but it was clear that Stiles wanted it known, through everything that had happened and would happen in the future, who she stood beside.

 

“Whadizzit?” Stiles grunting, stretching out over her bed. Desiree couldn’t help but notice that on her stomach like that, her toes curled over the edge of the too-small bed. The tips of her disarrayed curls brushed up against the headboard, too. Stiles had long since outgrown her childhood bed.

 

She also couldn’t help but notice that, if she was not mistaken, Stiles slept completely in the buff.

 

“Saddurday merning,” she continued when Desiree didn’t actually swing herself entirely into the bedroom through the window. Her words slurred, muffled by the back of her arm. “No research.”

 

“No research,” Desiree agreed, finally pulling her right leg into the room and shutting the window behind her. “When did you get that?”

 

“Wha?”

 

Desiree poked her shoulder, right on the circle at the center. She didn’t smell fresh ink or pain, and it looked to be completely healed. One drag of her fingertips told Desiree that it had settled completely into the skin. “Not recently, anyway.”

 

“Last winter,” Stiles yawned groggily. “Didn’t need a blowtorch or anything, either.” If she was startled by Desiree’s familiarity, she didn’t show it. Her soft brown eyes were nearly hidden under heavy lids and dark lashes, but Desiree knew she was being observed. “What do you need, Dee?”

 

“Nothing,” Desiree admitted after a moment, and when she realized she’d been crouching at Stiles’ bedside stroking a warm patch of skin for well over three minutes, she supposed it was pointless to go weird about it. Stiles didn’t seem to mind.

 

“Nothing?”

 

“Nope.”

 

Stiles blinked slowly. “Uh. Okay. Cool. Can I go back to sleep then?”

 

Desiree grunted, and apparently that was all the permission Stiles needed before she yawned again, widely, and shut her eyes.

 

In no less than five minutes she was snoring and rolling over, the thin sheet she’d been tangled in sliding down and down and - yeah, Stiles definitely slept naked.

 

(And apparently, her shoulder wasn’t the only place she was keeping tattoos hidden.)

 

 

☙❧

  


The third time was definitely Stiles’ fault. By that, Desiree means Stiles was absolutely, undeniably in the wrong, and that was just that.

 

She jogs through the city as a human and runs through the woods as a wolf sometimes, because it’s her territory, and it’s what the wolf knows. Desiree needs it more than air sometimes, just to feel the forest around her, under her. When things are peaceful and her pack is safe and well, she runs a _lot_.

 

So one evening when she picked up a familiar scent in what should have been empty territory, Desiree made it her business to investigate. Her wolf’s hackles weren’t raised, and she was only curious. The scent posed no threat. Following it almost made her feel... playful.

 

Trotting on all fours, Desiree found the human by the stream-fed lake a half mile behind the shell of her old home, a pile of clothes dumped by a tree as Stiles surveyed the expanse of lake. Without really thinking, Desiree stuck her nose in the heap of garments, wrinkling her muzzle when she caught a familiar scent. Something niggled at the back of her mind - the human part - and she snuffled once, loudly, so at least Stiles would be aware of her presence. The girl flinched and turned around, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “Seriously? Come on, I wasn’t doing anything, just... okay, yeah, skinny dipping, whatever. It’s not even dark out yet, so... okay, it’s just been super quiet lately, and I thought that since we seem to be monster-free for the moment, I might just take a break.”

 

Relaxing her bones, Desiree let the shift take her, and once she could stand on two feet again, the first thing out of her mouth was, “You can’t swim.”

 

Stiles wrinkled her nose and - well, wasn’t that interesting; apparently when Desiree was naked, too, Stiles finally started to feel a little self conscious of her nudity. She folded two thin arms over her breasts and squeezed her thighs together, as if that hid anything while she was standing up. “Excuse you, do you not remember the _hours_ I spent holding your furry ass up in eight feet of -”

 

“I  _mean_ ,” Desiree cut in, weirdly only mildly irritated, “you can’t go swimming in a lake so soon after you’ve had a new tattoo.”

 

Stiles’ mouth fell open and Desiree was way too distracted by that for the longest moment.

 

“But it’s been, like, two weeks!”

 

“To the day, I’m guessing.”

 

Stiles’ pink mouth opened a little wider, indignity written over her freckled face. “You... shut up! How did you even know?”

 

Desiree snorted. “I smelled it in your clothes. Turn around again.”

 

Stiles looked like she wanted to protest, and color had risen high in her cheeks, but she did as told and spun back toward the lake. The entirety of the back of her right thigh was covered in thick black lines of ink, curved and frayed in an intricate design - a group of flowers, almost like a bouquet. They had yet to be colored in, from the look of it; unfinished. It suited her, like Scott’s design from two years before on her shoulder blade, or the intricate runes Lydia had carved over Stiles’ pale hip until the scars were deep and bold, or the sleeve design Desiree had seen tucked away on Stiles’ desk that she would no doubt take to the nearest parlor with a fistful of cash whenever the whimsy took her.

 

“It’s big,” Desiree said unnecessarily, and wow, she hadn’t even realized she’d come to stand so close to Stiles - close enough to really take in the intricacy of the design (carnations?), close enough to count the freckles that dotted her ass and the nape of her neck. “The lines are thick. It won’t be fully healed and safe to swim for at least a month.”

 

“Seriously?” Stiles whined, thrusting her arm out toward the lake like it was at fault. “But - but it’s summer!”

 

“My mistake,” Desiree said, mocking abashedness. “That changes everything. Please, by all means.”

 

“Shut up, dickface,” Stiles laughed, turning around to punch Desiree in the shoulder. “Fine. Fine. I’m just gonna... put my clothes back on and you can... uh.” Her eyes wandered down Desiree’s body and that blush was back, pinkening the tips of her ears. “You should probably go wolfy again. That way at least you could pretend to be decent.”

 

“I’m not decent,” Desiree said, gently gnashing her teeth, and if that wasn’t a sudden burst of arousal-scent coming from Stiles, then Desiree’s nose was off. The human meeped and lurched around her toward the clothes heap.

 

“Definitely not decent,” she definitely heard Stiles mutter, and Desiree couldn’t help but grin.

 

 

☙❧

 

The fourth time is actually Erica’s fault.

 

Erica’s and Lydia’s, really, but mostly Erica’s. Desiree can’t blame Boyd or Isaac or even Scott because they really didn’t stand a chance, and it would be a cold day in hell before Desiree would even entertain the notion that her baby sister might be nefarious enough to try and strip her pack members down to nearly nothing. It was almost scary how quickly they lost at strip poker

 

Stiles' nudity was merely a byproduct of Erica and Lydia’s vicious battle for dominance. She was just kind of shit at poker.

 

As a result, she was down to nothing but what appeared to be a pair of Scott’s old boxers, one arm crossed over her breasts while the other awkwardly held her cards up way too close to her face. Boyd and Isaac were down to about the same, though Boyd had managed to at least keep a sock, and Scott had been stripped to nothing at all, but Desiree only had eyes for the human girl.

 

“I was only at the store for half an hour,” she mused in the doorway, turning everyone’s head but Lydia’s. “I’m a little worried that you four could be beaten so badly in so short a time.”

 

“I think Erica’s cheating,” Stiles said, craning her long, white neck to look back at the alpha, and Desiree hastily hauled all the groceries to the kitchen. “She just wants to see us all naked!” was shouted after her in her wake. Desiree hadn’t even finished putting one bag of food away when the living room erupted in cackles and hoots, and Stiles’ whine filled her ears. “No!” Stiles squawked, “No way, you animals, I fold! My lovely lady lumps are for private consumption only.” Desiree choked, nearly dropping the olive oil in her hand.

 

Shuffling footsteps approached the kitchen and Stiles clambered over to Desiree’s side, boxers still intact. “They’re monsters,” she moaned, pulling the brand new bottle of OJ from a bag and a glass from the cupboard, pouring it halfway full.

 

Desiree strategically waited until she had a mouthful before muttering, conversationally, “Private consumption, huh?”

 

Stiles sputtered, orange juice dribbling down her chin and onto her naked breasts, and Desiree laughed so long and hard that she had to lie down after.

 

 

☙❧

 

The fifth time, Desiree was only too glad for her familiarity with Stiles’ body.

 

Desiree doesn’t know why in action films, the heroes who fight the hardest always miraculously end up with all their vital bits covered in the end. It was just unrealistic. That’s never been her experience, ever. And Stiles, who had long since decided to hop their supernatural train of horrors, probably had to work twice as hard to make that unrealistic Hollywood standard a reality. She had to make sure her clothes were intact,  _and_ keep from being sliced to bits by whatever monster of the week they happened to be up against.

 

Even if Desiree’s pack ended up in next to nothing most of the time, thanks to all the shifting and tearing and fighting, Stiles didn’t have the luxury of healing fast enough that all she had to mourn was an expensive pair of jeans.

 

And when some dickhead warlock-in-training conjured up a gryphon from centuries past, of course it was Stiles who had to try and push Cora out of the way of a clawful of talons. Scott was on her in a heartbeat, and Desiree managed a good swipe at the beast’s eyes before the betas jumped it like a pack of, well, angry wolves, and Desiree crouched by Stiles’ side as well.

 

Of course she had to be difficult and not black out. Stiles gasped and scrambled for Scott’s shoulders, her skin a deathly white, the scent of pain and blood rolling off of her in heady waves. Desiree tried to bark orders, but her fangs kept getting in the way. She snarled at Scott without intending to, tugging Stiles back up while he kept trying to lay her down. He growled back, and Desiree had to tamp down _hard_ on her instincts to keep from answering the challenge for dominance. “We -” she tried, forcing her fangs back in, “we have to - Scott, take her pain or undress her, we have to -” and Scott finally seemed to cop on, muttering gently to Stiles as he reached down to slowly peel her ruined shirt up.

 

The human gasped and shouted, and Desiree could smell nausea, so as soon as the smallest strip of bare back was showing, she slid her hands underneath Stiles’ shirt and closed her eyes. It didn’t take too much focus to suck Stiles’ pain away, though obviously she wasn’t doing it very well or very quickly; Stiles let out a dry sob when the blood-soaked top stuck to her gaping wounds, and without thinking much at all, Desiree pressed a quick kiss to the back of her head. “We’ve got you,” she said, surveying the depth of the wounds.

 

They were bad - not the worst she’d ever seen, and for a werewolf they’d take maybe an hour to heal, but for Stiles they had to be agony. Blood ran thick from the three long gouges and Desiree knew the flow needed to be staunched, and soon. Stiles’ cries had faded into ragged pants and whines as Scott fumbled with her destroyed bra, and Desiree decided it was time to take over. “Deaton,” she said, and Scott nodded, only half listening. “Scott! I need to take her to Deaton.”

 

“I can -”

 

“Help them.” Desiree’s eyes flashed red for the briefest moment, and Stiles picked that time to go slack. Hastily they’d draped her long limbs over Desiree’s back and once shifted into beta form, she took off through the trees. Luckily it wasn’t far and she ran with the stealth of a predator, because even the notion of jostling Stiles too much and causing more pain left a bitter taste in Desiree’s mouth.

 

Modesty meant very little to werewolves, and Desiree had only ever noticed Stiles’ lack thereof because she was human, and therefore hyperaware of her own nakedness, but when Deaton had told Desiree to strip her down so he could clean the wound, a little part of her objected. Stiles, laid out on the table, wounded and unconscious and totally vulnerable, had little left to maintain any sense of preservation. Desiree had no desire to remove the last barrier she had to expose her entirely to anyone else - including the vet.

 

But eventually she did as she was told, soaking the pain up until it ran black in her veins as Deaton made quick work of cleaning and stitching up her back. Sweat dripped down Desiree’s temple, but when she reached up to wipe it away, Stiles whimpered at the loss.

 

When Deaton was done and Stiles was clean, Desiree watched him fetch a fresh linen sheet from a closet and draped it over Stiles’ lower half. “She’s lost a lot of blood,” he said, and Desiree nodded absently, crawling onto the tiny examining table beside her.

 

He left them shortly after, and in the hours that passed the pack began to trickle in one by one, bloody but victorious. The wolves would lay their hands on Stiles’ back to give Desiree a moment’s respite, but she never left Stiles’ side.

 

When Stiles woke up, Desiree thought to herself sometime just before dawn began to break over Beacon Hills, stroking the damp curls from the girl’s drawn face. When Stiles woke up, things were going to have to change.

 

 

❦

 

“Whoa, what’s with the bedroom eyes, big bad?”

 

Stiles always stays with her father when she’s back in town from college. This means that she’s exactly where Desiree wants her to be on holidays and most weekends. But sometimes Stiles manages to stay on campus for several weeks in a row, and sometimes... sometimes Desiree gets antsy. She can be territorial about her pack. Sometimes she thinks Stiles knows this and uses it to her advantage.

 

“I am in your bedroom,” she points out, slowly shutting the window behind her. The air this time of autumn feels just fine to her, but a wave of it raises goosebumps all along Stiles’ bare  _everything_ and Desiree can be a little vindictive. She raises an eyebrow at the young woman on the bed, a mess of what looks like a half-written essay and a thousand internet articles on ancient runes spread around her, and Stiles just looks back.

 

“I was gonna come say hi tomorrow,” she finally blurts, and Desiree’s eyebrows twitch up just because she knows Stiles always reacts to that (not the claws or the fangs, but the eyebrows, and yeah, she picked the weirdest human alive to fall ass over ankles for). “I just got in, like, two hours ago,” she goes on, “and Dad wanted to bond for a little bit, so I didn’t text anyone because you guys are way too fond of treating other people’s homes like your territory.”

 

“I figured,” Desiree sighed, leaning back against Stiles’ desk and folding her arms over her chest. One of the sheriff’s old police academy shirts engulf Stiles’ body, pooling over her thighs just high enough that Desiree can tell she can only be wearing panties underneath. Stiles knows she’s looking, that she isn’t afraid to look anymore, because she shifts and the shirt slides and no, she’s not even wearing those.

 

Her face is red and her heartbeat trips, but it isn’t in fear or anxiety. Stiles licks her lips and Desiree knows anticipation when she sees it.

 

“So you heard my heartbeat or something?”

 

“Or something,” Desiree lies, pushing away from the desk with enough purpose that Stiles takes the hint and hastily begins to sweep all her papers together and shove them all in a binder, tossing it to the floor once Desiree’s sauntered close enough to touch. Desiree _wants_ her to touch. She thinks maybe, definitely it’s been a long time coming. “Scott’s got a big mouth.”

 

“Yeah, but I didn’t tell Scott.” Warm brown eyes narrow, and that sinful mouth quirks up in a grin. “You were totally listening for me.”

 

“It’s hard not to,” Desiree defends, shucking her leather jacket and tossing it to the foot of the bed. Stiles watches her unbutton her jeans and pull the Henley off of her torso with parted lips and quick little jumps of her heart, and Desiree has quite possibly never felt so optimistic about anything in her life.

 

“Yeah?” Stiles squeaks when Desiree climbs onto the bed in only her undershirt and panties, deftly removing the black bra from under her tank top and tugging it out from the sleeve. Stiles eyes the full shape of her breasts under a thin layer of cotton, and her long fingers twitch in the sheets beside her.

 

“Take off your shirt,” Desiree says in lieu of a response, and Stiles is only too hasty to comply.

 

She’s not wearing a bra either, and for the amount of times she’s seen Stiles like this, Desiree thinks this time will be the one to make her a little bit crazy.

 

 

"You're, like, super hot when you do the whole predator thing, you know that?" Stiles swallows. Never let it be said that Desiree doesn't aim to please. She braces both hands on the pillows by Stiles' hips and leans in close, tucking her face into the curve of Stiles' neck to breathe in the heady scent of pheromones and cinnamony body wash and that just about does it. She takes a bite and Stiles lets out a squeak of surprise, gripping Desiree by the hair and pulling her closer like she didn't know she'd want more of _that_ , and. Well.

 

 

She's got plenty of skin on display for Desiree to oblige.

  


**Author's Note:**

> Title from 'Shiver Shiver' by Walk The Moon: _You grip your hands around my throat / You strip the buttons off my coat / I choose the methods I do best / Thump, thump, the thumping in your chest / When you are close to me I shiver_
> 
> It's my personal femSterek anthem, tbh.
> 
> If you are so inclined, feel free to follow [my Tumblr](http://byacolate.tumblr.com/).


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